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BEYOND THE NAKED EYE |
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I am a penis. My master earns his pennies because of my undaunted effort to contribute my devotedly manufactured soulful essence to various sperm banks. I vomit at the thought of it. Sheeesh. My beloved seeds taken away -frozen in some preservation tomb, half-filling its plastic cup which shares its color and bleakness, so that some ugly bitch will implant my handsome genes into her filthy womb. Aaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhh!!! The nerve. But that is far better than earning pennies by forcing my precious vulnerable head in and out of some freaking fairy's or hag's slimy halitosis-infested mouth with the hissing, slobbering tongue, and worse, some fecally brimming hole. Yucch!!! It's not easy to be me when my master grooves into the stage of the night bar with the eyes of screaming fags melting my very soul. Oh how I want a simple life. I want to experience the safety of not having to reveal myself to various doctors for STD check-ups. I want to wear luxurious cotton-made underwear, not those foul filthy loin clothes with baconlike garters. I'm tired of being choked and forced into different places. I want to experience a peaceful slumber and faithful communion to some passionate vagina, whose juices will make me feel loved and longed for.
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COPYRIGHT 2001 |
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